Out of juice, and I’m not talkin’ orange

If I don’t have to pay attention to details, I don’t. So when I was emailed the name and address of the place we were staying in Paris I glanced at it and thought Oh, mm hm, I’ll look at that later. I do recall that I thought the name bore a resemblance to a typeface I use from time to time. Caxton.

When I landed in Paris and took my phone out to see where the hell I was supposed be going, imagine my delight in finding I had less than 10% power. My soul, I mean, my iPhone was dying!! I really had no idea where I was going and worse, now would have no means of calling the only person who knew. Frantically I texted him a message that began, Where am I going?! And when he did not respond immediately I wrote: Help!! As I was about to include a long-winded (I can be at times) explanation of my predicament I thought fuck that, I’ll just use up power and I got into my email, did a search for Caxton (this was not the name after all), a brief but frantic search found the email with the actual name and address. Helpfully the name of the hotel, Castex was on a street of the same name so I didn’t have to remember much except the number, 5. And then my phone died.

I didn’t think much about that pathetic last text: “Help.” If I had been the one on the receiving end I’d have slugged whoever sent it to me. But there was nothing to be done about it. He didn’t slug me it turned out.

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